


Supernova

by wesleyfanfiction_archivist



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-22
Updated: 2005-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:40:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7092589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleyfanfiction_archivist/pseuds/wesleyfanfiction_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wes and Fred have a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supernova

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [WesleyFanfiction.net](http://fanlore.org/wiki/WesleyFanFiction.Net). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [WesleyFanfiction.net collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/wesleyfanfiction/profile).

She needs this.

It isn't that she doesn't love Charles. She does. But their relationship is about the sweetness. Someone to hold. Someone to talk to when you're scared. Someone to think you're perfect.

Wesley doesn't think she's perfect.

She used to think so. She knew he had a crush on her. She thought she could twist him around her little finger. But of course she didn't. She couldn't. She's Fred, sweet little Fred, who would never torment a man like that.

She wanted to, so badly.

But now, now it's not about the sweetness. What Charles will never realize, she's afraid, is that it isn't always about love, about tenderness. Sometimes it's about understanding, about knowing. Charles doesn't know her, not really. She's sure he never did, and never will.

Wesley understands her perfectly. He knows her. Because he is her.

Which is why she's in his apartment right now, casually sliding her little blue sweater off, revealing a thin matching blue tank. Shivering, just a little. Looking over at him with her big doe eyes, edging closer to him on the couch. She's only there for a little companionship, a little reassurance. She'll get more.

His hands are sliding around her shoulders. Is she cold? A little. The hands tighten, stroking, creating friction. She bites back a small moan. He pauses, understanding. 

And that's all it's about, right? The name of the game. All she wants is someone who understands what she is, underneath.

His hands continue rubbing, and it's no accident that the straps of her tank "slip" down. He looks at her unwaveringly, she meets his gaze. Slowly, his eyes never leaving hers, his head lowers. Lips graze the satiny skin of her shoulder, slide over to her collarbone. Her head is arching back, giving him access.

They twist, a fluid movement that ends with her pressed into the couch, crushed, but not uncomfortably so, with his body above hers. His lips are on hers now and she welcomes the invasion, her hands gliding up to tangle in his dark hair. She whimpers a bit, opening herself up to him. Her lips part, her legs shift to cradle him between. He presses forward, his assault on her almost tender, but not enough to ruin what she's waited so long to get.

They move again, and it seems like their clothes melt away. She doesn't realize they're gone until bare skin is nestled against bare skin. She feels him, hot and hard and rough against her small, soft frame. A groan rises in her throat and he caresses it with his tongue. She opens herself up to him a little more, silently begging for him to understand her even better.

He closes his eyes as he thrusts inside her. His back and forth rhythm is neither punishing nor loving. He knows what she needs, is more than willing to give it to her. She gasps as she feels him fill her, then leave her feeling hollow. She needs him inside her. She needs to not be empty.

There's no expression on his face as he presses himself deep into her, no indication that he's reveling in sharing this intimacy with her as he's wanted to do for so long. It's no longer actual intimacy. There is no connection, no caring, no completion in this act. There is only two people understanding each other as no one can.

Her breathing hitches as she feels the tension mount. She cries out, moaning, gasping breathlessly as he picks up his pace. He thrusts demandingly, insisting that she give everything she has-everything but her heart. He can't have that, and curiously doesn't want it. What he has from her is more important than her love, for her desire is truer, more real, than the love she gives to Charles. 

He feels her erupt underneath him, quaking and breathing erratically as she crash-lands back in reality. His lips firm into a harder line as he continues to drive into her, finally able to spend himself, now that he's given her what she came for. He feels her swallow him whole and he explodes, his vision shattering as he loses control and cries out.

The look on his face is endearing as she disentangles herself from him. It's a mixture of guilt and shame. It reminds her of the man she used to know, before Angel and everyone else-before she herself-drove him into the darkest part of himself. *You drove him there so you could join him.*

She's aware of his relationship with Lilah, if you could call it that. She's not outraged, nor is she offended. She knows what it's like to need solace that you can't find with the one you love. She knows what it's like to need someone who nourishes your darkness, when you yourself can't find the light.

She's just a little surprised that he would call out her name after fucking the girl of his dreams.

The look on his face has morphed into apologetic and he holds out a hand to her as she stands up. "Fred…"

"No." She turns away from him, feeling his hand fit itself around the curve of her ass. Feels a finger slip between her thighs, and loses control of her thoughts as she moans. She struggles to remember what she was going to say as his hands gently, but firmly, spread her thighs apart, first one finger, then a second, then a third delving inside her. She arches backwards, taking them deep, desperate for them to soothe away the ache, the fire that's begun burning inside.

"No what?" His voice is almost amused, and she suddenly hates him for it. This isn't supposed to be about amusement. This is supposed to be about her, about taking something into herself that feeds the darkness Charles tries to beat back.

She wants to hate both of them, Wesley and Charles, in alternate turns for letting her indulge her blackness and for denying her the right to it. And suddenly she remembers why she's there in the first place.

*Charles judged you. He wanted you to be pure and found you lacking. Wesley helped you do what you felt you had to. Charles is disillusioned. Wesley wants to show you yourself.*

"No talking," she groans, and allows him to pull her back down to him. She lets him position her, wait with anticipation until she feels his mouth on her, his tongue and teeth and fingers driving her mad. When she bursts, he finally allows himself a small smile.

She stands slowly, taking a small step away from him, away from his grasping hands. She pauses for a moment, turns back, kisses him deeply. Tastes herself on his tongue, and it's good. Her eyes promise him, *This is our little secret.*

As it is for weeks, when she goes back to him for more of the same. Feels herself falling over and over as she's taken more ways than she's ever dreamed. More ways than she knows Charles is capable of. This is what she needs, she reassures herself. She needs the darkness or she can't live.

Until one day when it's the three of them, and Charles asks her a question. She can't look at him, and she can't look at Wesley. When Charles turns to Wesley, he gets a steady gaze.

And Fred realizes it's no longer their little secret.

She can't live without the darkness, but she wonders if she can live with it.


End file.
